


Tacet Nox

by TheStarvingWriter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Silent Night, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Team as Family, Tony Gives Him One, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarvingWriter/pseuds/TheStarvingWriter
Summary: Steve had always loved Christmas. It was a holiday filled with joy, and each year he would spend it with his mother. They didn't have much, but she would always make it special, and it was Steve's favorite time of year.But now, in 2012, his mother was long gone, and the holiday had lost all it's warmth, leaving Steve feeling sad and depressed.Maybe Tony, the Avengers, and a song from the past can help.





	Tacet Nox

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I love Christmas and I decided to write my love into a fic. It became angsty. Sorry.  
> Important things to note: Steve is religious in this, but I only did that to make the holiday mean a little something extra to him. If you don't think Steve is religious, that's completely fine, just ignore it. I'm not personally religious but I think Steve would be.  
> Silent Night by Mark Andrews is a real song, but it's just orchestral. In this fic, it has words.  
> Enjoy!

Steve had always loved Christmas.

Even when he was small, and his lungs were bad and his hands perpetually cold due to bad blood circulation, it was a special day. He would wake up early, (some years with a cough, others without) and race to the living room. They never had a Christmas tree, because it was an unnecessary waste of money, but his mother would always put the presents in the middle of the red rug, which sat on the scratched wooden floor.

There were never many presents, usually about two or three, but he remembered the delightful suspense as he ripped through the paper (tissue paper, because wrapping paper was too expensive), and the overwhelming joy that he felt when he saw what was inside (one year he got a nice hat, and another a sturdy, reliable pair of shoes)

His mother would tell him, when Steve thanked her, that it wasn’t her who got the gifts; it was Santa Claus, who came to their house on his sleigh, with his flying reindeer and sack full of presents for good boys and girls all over the world.

He never believed her, even when he was really little. He was always a smart kid, and he knew that Santa wasn’t real and that the gifts, so thoughtful and generous, were from his loving mother, and no one else.

After presents and quick breakfast, he and his mother would go to church, on the corner of Marcy and Madison Street, and they would sing hymns and listen to Pastor John preach about Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and Bethlehem.

They would go home after the service and eat Christmas dinner, which changed with whatever was cheap, and listen to Christmas music on the radio. And every year, Steve would wait for his favorite song to come on: Silent Night.

He wasn’t sure why he loved the song so much, but he remembered hearing it for the first time, when it had almost brought him to tears with its beauty. So, every year, after dinner but before dessert, he would wait for Silent Night by Mark Andrews to play.

Not much could be said for the rest of the year, but on Christmas, he always went to sleep with a full stomach and a full heart.

Christmas gained a slightly sour taste in 1936, which was the first Christmas without his mother. He spent most of the day with Bucky, mostly because he was forced to by the man himself, but even though Bucky was Jewish, he made the holiday special for Steve.

That evening, Steve heard Silent Night and cried.

Christmas during the war was a lot different than it was during peacetime. There were no presents, but there were candy canes, and each solider was given one. It was a delight, to have such sweetness in the middle of a bitter, hard war, when the only taste on a soldier’s tongue was blood and the hardly palatable C-rations.

Steve had never fought a battle on Christmas, and every year that he heard Silent Night on the radio, he thought of his late mother, with her loving and gentle nature, and Bucky, who made her death hurt less.

Then, in 1945, he put a plane in the ocean. It was a month before Christmas, but it didn’t matter.

\--

When Steve woke up in 2012, he was lost.

Everything was big and new, and it was too much for him to deal with, so when the Chitauri attacked New York, it was almost a relief.

He didn’t know how to work a computer, or whatever those things are called, but he knew how to be a solider. And a damn good one at that.

He wasn’t expecting to get a team out of it, but it just sort of happened.

He had been out of the ice for about seven months when December rolled around, and Christmas was upon him once again.

Christmas in 2012 was a lot different than the Christmas he knew growing up. There were big, flashy signs, loud television commercials, and annoying Christmas songs he had never heard of.

Not for the first time, Steve felt himself getting overwhelmed.

He tried to ignore the upcoming holiday, but everywhere he looked, it was there. Tony had put up a giant Christmas tree in the living room, which the team had collectively decorated. Tony had even bought Steve an ornament that resembled his shield, and he just hoped that the fake smile he wore when he hung it up was believable.

On Christmas Eve, Tony gifted the entire team with stockings, each individual one monogramed. Steve thanked Tony quietly, clutching the soft fabric in his hand, making sure he was careful with it as he hung it by the fireplace.

He went to a church service that evening, but he only got halfway through before the grief threatening to swallow him whole, because _he and his mother used to go together, dammit, why did he think he could just go alone?_

He fell asleep that night depressed and aching for his mother, or Bucky, or someone else who was long gone.

When he woke on Christmas morning, he wanted to go back asleep.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and got out of bed, only to find a package right outside his bedroom door.

There was a note on it that read, _Wear Me ;)_

Steve frowned and opened it, only to find a bright red sweater with red, white, and blue Christmas lights on it.

It was easily the ugliest sweater Steve had ever seen, and he had no idea why he was being forced to wear it, but he put it on anyways, and went to the living room.

He stepped out of the elevator and found that his whole team was there, each ugly-sweater clad. Coulson was at the table, reading something, his sweater bright Christmas green with red pom-poms. Clint was on the chair next to him, eating eggs and bacon, his dirty blonde hair stuck up and his hand clutching Phil’s. He was wearing a green sweater as well, but instead of pom-poms, it had bells, and every movement made them jingle.

Natasha was on the couch, a cup of coffee in her hands, watching something on the TV. Her sweater was red and was covered in garland and sparkles.

Bruce was next to her, looking tired but alert, as he always was. He was sipping coffee as well, and his sweater was green with ornaments hanging off it.

Thor was in Asgard, but there was a sweater hung on the side of the couch for him, red and covered in flashing lightning bolts.

Lastly, there was Tony. He was excitedly talking by the coffee maker, his red sweater shining brightly with red lights and gold tinsel. His sweatpants hung low on his waist, and Steve found himself staring at his hips.

His face coloring, he looked up just as Clint said, “Hey! Merry Christmas, Steve!”

Everyone looked at him, grinning, and he tried his hardest to plaster a believable smile on his face. “Merry Christmas, guys,” he said quietly.

“Hey, Stark! How come his sweater looks the best?” Clint complained, gesturing with his fork. “All I have are these dumb ass bells.”

“Because he’s the leader, Merida,” Tony shot at him. “Plus, yours was the last one I made, and I was tired so I half assed it.”

Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Steve tuned them out, instead heading over to the couch where Natasha and Bruce were. There was Christmas music playing softly in the background as he took a seat, despair swirling in his gut. At this time, sixty something years ago, he would have just finished opening presents and would be on his way to church, with his mother.

He curled in on himself a little, the memory putting a lump in his throat.

There was a small nudge, and he looked and saw Natasha looking at him with her sharp eyes. “Are you okay?” She asked softly, and Steve desperately wanted to say no, that he wasn’t okay and that he should be going to church with his mother now or sucking on his one candy cane that he got during the war. He shouldn’t _be_ here, in the future with this light up sweater and heavy heart.

“I’m fine, just a little groggy,” Steve lied, giving her a small smile.

“Hey, Capsicle,” Tony called from the kitchen, and Steve looked at him over the back of the couch. “What do you think of the sweater?”

 _It’s another thing I don’t understand about the future._ “It’s very… odd,” Steve admitted, looking down at the flashy sweater. “Is this… is this a tradition, or something?”

“Nah, Tony just has too much time on his hands,” Bruce said.

“Well, it’s a tradition now,” Tony declared, walking over and sitting next to Steve on the couch, a large mug of coffee in his hand. Their arms were touching, and Steve ignored the thrill of excitement that coursed through him at the contact. “Jarvis, play _Elf._ There is a serious lack of Christmas movies happening right now.”

The movie played, and Steve tried to pay attention, but his mind was elsewhere. At some point in the movie, he ended up getting a plate of food and bringing it over to the couch, eating quickly and trying not to think of Christmas breakfast years ago. He didn’t even notice that the first movie ended, or that a new one started.

By the time the second movie was over, Steve was well and thoroughly depressed. Every time he tried not to think of his mother, something would remind him of her, and he would fall down the rabbit hole again.

“Is it time for presents? I think it’s time for presents,” Tony said excitedly, practically skipping over to the Christmas tree. There were six packages underneath the tree, all delicately wrapped in shiny red paper. Tony crouched down and picked each of them up, except for a package that must have been for Thor.

Tony handed them each a present, and Steve took his with wordless thanks, guilt coursing through him.

Clint beamed as he opened a quiver of new arrows, excitedly showing them off to Coulson before thanking Tony. Phil got a new taser, equipped with longer distance and 70,000 volts. He thanked Tony quietly, and even gave him a rare smile.

Natasha got a new knife. It was shiny, sharp, and there was a Russian engraving on the blade. She nodded in satisfaction and thanked Tony, who looked like he slightly regretted giving her another weapon.

Bruce got a book and based on the huge smile that spread across his face when he read the title, it must have been one he wanted. Tony looked incredibly pleased with himself as Bruce began fervently flipping through it.

Steve was last to go, and as he was opening, he was careful not to rip the paper. He took off every piece of tape with care, and Tony watched him with soft eyes, like he was slightly amazed that someone so big could treat something with so gently.

There was a box underneath the paper, and Steve opened it.

There was a pair of sturdy gloves sitting in a nest of tissue paper. He stared at them a second, before picking them up carefully, observing how light they were and how they looked to be perfectly fitted to his hands.

“Those are made with full-grain leather, but I made some improvements to make them really flexible. I know you get blisters on your hands during fights, and I know you say it’s not that big of a deal since your freaky serum heals them immediately, but I thought: ‘why not prevent them from even happening?’” Tony looked nervous as Steve gazed down at the gloves in wonder.

He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but he blinked them back. “Thank you, Tony. These are incredible,” Steve said quietly, meeting Tony’s eyes before dropping his gaze. “I… I didn’t get you anything, though. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony flapped a hand. “I don’t like being handed things anyway.”

Steve still felt guilty, but dropped the subject, biting his lip.

“Alright, everyone,” Tony clapped his hands together. “I ordered some takeout for Christmas dinner, and it should be here soon. I hope you all like Chinese.”

Steve was fine with Chinese food, he actually liked it quite a lot, but it wasn’t the _same…_

The takeout arrived a little bit later, and they all sat down and ate together. Tony and Clint were cracking jokes, and Phil occasionally said something so dry that it had both Tony and Clint in tears, Nat smirking, and Bruce smiling.

Steve stared down at his plate, wanting to laugh along with his friends, but feeling too sad to.

 After dinner, Steve offered to clean up. He cleared the table and brought the dishes over to the sink, grabbing a sponge and loading it with soap.

Steve’s hands were shaking as he wiped plates clean, every action bringing up a memory. The radio in the corner of the kitchen was playing a song he didn’t know, and he felt himself starting to get overwhelmed again.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tony’s quiet voice came from behind him, and he jumped, turning with the sponge in hand.

Steve relaxed his tense posture and went back to scrubbing. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because you’ve been really quiet all day, and every time I look at you, you look like someone killed a baby or something.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Steve,” Tony said, his voice laced with concern. “If something’s bothering you—”

Steve set down the plate and the sponge loudly, something in him bubbling and burning over. “I’m fine, how many—”

He cut off abruptly, his eyes snapping to the radio. There was the gentle twinkling of piano emanating from it, and _god, he knew that sound…_

The first few chords of Mark Andrew’s Silent Night played, and Steve wasn’t in 2012 anymore. He was in 1928, in the kitchen of his childhood, his chin propped up on the counter, his mother humming in the background. He was in 1933, curled up in bed with a horrible cold, a compress on his forehead. He was in 1936, curled up on the couch, crying because his mother was _supposed to be there, dammit, why did she have to die—_

He was in 1943, in Strasbourg, and Bucky’s arm was around his shoulders. There was a taste of peppermint on his tongue, and there was a warm fire in front of him. Bucky and the other Commandos were a little drunk and Steve was stone cold sober, but god, it was perfect.

But he was in 2012 now, and there was a lump in his throat, and his eyes were burning with tears, because god, he’s been through two centuries and this song has been there through both of them.

His face broke and the hot tears fell in streams down his cheeks. He covered his mouth with his hands but couldn’t muffle the loud sob that escaped his lips, every part of him howling in sorrow.

The kitchen was deadly quiet, minus the soft twinkling of Silent Night and Steve’s sniffling. Tony was staring at him, confusion and soft concern on his face.

“Hey,” Tony said quietly, stepping towards Steve and laying a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Steve.”

Steve shook his head, because it _wasn’t okay._ His mother was dead and so was Bucky, and Peggy, and the Commandos, and Pastor John and everyone he had ever known…

Steve shook his head, another sob tearing itself out of his throat.

Tony shuffled forward, gently put his hand on the back of Steve’s head, and forced his head down to Tony’s collarbone, one arm curling around Steve’s quivering figure and the other keeping his head in place.

Steve removed his hands from his face and pulled Tony closer to him, reveling in the feeling of human contact and affection that he didn’t know he was missing.

The words of Silent Night swirled through air, and Steve could almost feel his mother beside him, a safe, calming presence who taught him the words of the Lord and how to treat everyone with respect. He could feel that Bucky was there too, then, safe and grounding, calling him Stevie and ruffling his hair.

He realized he was outright sobbing, then, his entire body shaking with the force of them. Tony was gently shushing him, his hot breath on Steve’s ear, his fingers running through Steve’s short hair.

The song ended, and Steve yearned to hear it again, but the mortification was slowly setting in. His sobs stopped, and his tears slowed, a cold feeling warring with the hot shame unfurling in his gut.

Once he had himself under control, he removed his face from Tony’s shoulder and wiped his eyes. “S-Sorry,” he choked out, sucking in a breath.

“Don’t apologize,” Tony whispered. “What’s going on, Steve?”

Steve swallowed. “My mother,” he whispered, before shaking his head and starting over. “Christmas is hard, because I used to spend it with my mother. But she’s g-gone, and so is everyone else. I’m alone.”

Tony shook his head. “No. You’re not alone. I understand missing your mother… I miss mine every day. But you’re not alone, Steve. You’ve got us. We’re…” Tony swallowed. “We’re your family now.”

Steve looked over at the table and saw his teammates, all looking at him gravely. Collectively, they nodded.

“I don’t have a family,” Clint said with a shrug. “Never had one, really. You guys are the only ones who’ve even come close.”

Natasha nodded. “All I had was the other Black Widows from the Red Room. Not exactly a family.”

Bruce smiled without humor. “I had parents, but they died a long time ago. They weren’t the best.”

Coulson looked at Steve with his piercing blue eyes. “I have parents, and two sisters. I see them from time to time, but I have to lie to them about what I do. Besides,” he held out his hand for Clint to take. “Clint’s my family now, and you all are as well.”

Tony reached up and wiped away a stray tear off of Steve’s face with his thumb. “We’re your family, Steve. You’re not alone.”

Steve nodded, ashamed that his eyes were burning with fresh tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Tony shrugged. “Come on. Let’s watch some more movies. I haven’t shown you _Home Alone_ yet, and I think that should be illegal.”

Steve let himself be manhandled to the couch, and when the movie started, he dropped his head to Tony’s shoulder.

He still missed his mother, and the life he had before. But he had a new life now, and a new family.

Tony’s head dropped onto his, and he linked their hands in the darkness, squeezing tightly.

Steve let out a sigh.

Maybe this was where he was supposed to be, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
